[ he sits in silence. a moment, then another. stands and leaves the room. his hand lifts at the door, and he turns as if to speak —
keeps walking. lets hinges shut heavy. he's gone.
(and if he knew a little more, he might ask, again? and if he knew a little less, he might ask, why? but the real question, the devil of a thought that crawls in his ear, is what quarter of them are worth so much greater sorrow than those dead in his hands) ]
no subject
keeps walking. lets hinges shut heavy. he's gone.
(and if he knew a little more, he might ask, again? and if he knew a little less, he might ask, why? but the real question, the devil of a thought that crawls in his ear, is what quarter of them are worth so much greater sorrow than those dead in his hands) ]